


You Can't Go Home Again (But You Can Build A New One)

by a_question_of_love (roseandheather)



Category: Pundit & Broadcast Journalist RPF (US), Real News RPF
Genre: #BringBackOlbermann, Keith doesn't know how to do feelings, Keith is kind of a jerk, Rachel loves him anyway, Reconciliation, Richard and Rachel are News BFFs, What The Hell Olbermann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5302040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseandheather/pseuds/a_question_of_love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith rejoins MSNBC just in time for the 2016 general election.</p><p>Not everyone is entirely happy about this.</p><p>In which Rachel slaps Keith, Richard is actually kind of scary, and demons are exorcised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Go Home Again (But You Can Build A New One)

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of Feelings about what transpired between Keith and Rachel in the wake of Keith's departure from MSNBC.
> 
> This is me, trying (and probably failing) to work through them.
> 
> Full disclosure: I am still a die-hard Rachel fan. I am still a die-hard Keith fan. I am very, very sad about this apparent rift, and should it ever be publicly announced that it's been healed I will weep tears of joy.
> 
> But Keith? You kinda had this coming.

Rachel slaps him.

"Okay," he says, rubbing his jaw, as Rachel's face crumples and she turns into Richard's arms, shaking with what he _knows_ to be barely-restrained sobs of grief and rage. "I had that coming."

"I'll say," mutters Richard, one hand soothingly rubbing Rachel's back, the other carding through her hair, and fixes him with a glare. "Get lost."

Then Richard starts muttering nonsense (Arabic, maybe?) into Rachel's ear, and Keith gets lost.

He stays lost until Richard turns up in the break room, scowling at him over a cup of coffee, and jabs a finger in the direction of the nearest chair. " _Sit._ "

Keith sits. He's never thought of Richard Engel as a particularly menacing figure; even in a flak jacket and Army helmet, the soft brown eyes, round cheeks, and floppy hair give him the look of a particularly endearing half-grown puppy. But suddenly it hits Keith, right in the gut, that this man has spent two decades in nearly every major war zone on the planet, and that he spends an awful lot of time hanging around with oft-bored soldiers and has undoubtedly picked up a few skills in those two decades which Keith would rather not have used on his person, thank you very much.

"Do you," says Richard, fists clenched around the coffee cup, "have any _idea_ what you put her through? All of us, really, but that's not the point right now. I'm not pissed off on my behalf, Olbermann. I'm pissed off on _hers._ You were my friend - hell, maybe you still are, despite my better judgment - but Rachel? She _adored_ you."

"Not as much as she adores you," Keith mutters under his breath, because (he knows, or thinks he knows) it's true. Richard and Rachel have an untouchable, effortless magic to them, kismet or fate or predestination or whatever you want to call it. All they have to do is look at each other and they're in their own little universe of defense policy and foreign relations and military operations and sheer profound love, kindred spirits on a fundamental level, so obviously meant to be the best of friends it's almost a little bit nauseating (because better nauseating than the dull ache of jealousy and regret and _want_ that still burns in his heart).

"Shut up," Richard snaps. " _I_ didn't drag her into something that thrills and terrifies her at the same time. _I_ didn't pluck her from obscurity and give her a voice to reach millions. _I_ wasn't the trailblazer singlehandedly responsible for her being on primetime TV. _I_ wasn't her mentor and her guiding light. I love her. You _made_ her. And then you _dropped_ her, without a word of warning, and _I_ had to pick up the pieces!" The mug thunks to the table, brown liquid sloshing over the side. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't take what she did and go a _hell_ of a lot further!"

"Because I don't want you to."

Both of them whip around at that; startlement in Richard's eyes, pure shock in Keith's.

"Rach," says Richard, and goes to her, taking her by the shoulders. "Are you sure?"

"He may be a jerk," says Rachel, her eyes reddened from crying but her voice as calm and cool as the cocktails she loves, and Keith has never felt smaller or more insignificant in his life, "but he's still _my_ jerk." Softly, she leans forward and kisses Richard on the cheek, then hugs him tightly. 

He hugs her back. "I love you, baby girl," Keith can hear Richard say in her ear, and his stomach twists again.

"My hero," says Rachel, still hugging him, and there's not a trace of mockery in her tone. "I love you, too. Don't worry about me."

"Too late," mutters Richard, but he cups Rachel's cheek one last time and leaves the room.

He can't look up. Can't say a word until Rachel reaches out and lifts his chin with her finger, forcing him to meet her eyes with his.

Still holding his gaze, she says only one word.

"Why?"

He tries to look away, but she won't let him. Just locks his gaze with hers, merciless and unforgiving.

At last, he sighs. "I didn't want to drag you down with me."

Rachel, quite levelly: "Bullshit."

"Fine!" Keith half-shouts. "Because I knew you'd have to choose. If I'd reached out, if I'd tried to stay in contact, to keep what we had, I'd have forced you to choose sides. And I was terrified you wouldn't choose mine."

"Cutting the cord," murmurs Rachel. "Sever the link yourself, on your own terms, so you don't have to know what it feels like for someone to do it against your will." She laughs, a little merciless, a lot bitter. "I know you, remember?"

He can't think of anything to say to that, so he opens his mouth and the raw, angry truth comes spilling out.

"I'm sorry. Rachel, I'm so sorry. I don't know how to miss people. I don't know how to _miss_ people, and I've missed you so much I wanted to puke. I let _you_ hang for my own insecurities, and it was wrong, and unfair, and cruel. And I know, if the same thing happened, I'd do it again. Because I don't know how to _miss_ people."

"And if I'd reached out? If I'd come to you?"

"I'd have stayed away," he admits. He is all out of pride and all out of shields. "Because it hurt too goddamned much to see you up there, taking on the world and _winning,_ doing my job better than I've ever done it, and not be there with you."

Rachel moves so fast his head is still spinning a solid minute later. She drops his chin, reaches for his hand, and yanks him out of the chair, then flings herself into his arms and _clings._

He crushes her to his chest like he'd never thought to again, and for the first time in years allows himself to hope.

"I still haven't forgiven you," she mutters against his shirt.

"That's fair."

"It's gonna take awhile."

"Also fair."

"You're still a jerk."

"Entirely true."

"You're gonna have to grovel. A lot. There will be _massive_ amounts of grovelling."

"When and where, Rachel. Just tell me when and where."

"This is a pretty good place to start," she murmurs, and cuddles more closely against his chest. "I love you. You complete and utter _ass._ "

"I'll never deserve it," he says fiercely, his voice harsh even to his own ears. "But I'm damn well gonna try."

"Good enough." This time, when she pulls away, she's smiling. "Get lost. I have to go convince Richard he doesn't really need to punch you."

"Was that ever on the table?" Keith inquires, his eyebrow rising of its own volition.

"For at least five years," Rachel informs him sunnily, and sails out the door.

So Keith gets lost. Again.

It's not enough. Not by a long shot. But he's gonna have to earn 'enough' back. There will be no rebuilding, no coming home again. But maybe he can build something new. Something stronger, on still-strong foundations.

What it is, is a start.

And right now? It feels like the world.

 


End file.
